


Promises

by novaband



Category: Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker & Taylor
Genre: F/M, the deserved better fic no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novaband/pseuds/novaband
Summary: Michael never liked poetry, at least until he met Julia.OR five times Julia and Michael kept their promises to each other, and one time they didn't.





	1. Julia's First Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia doesn't get the lead.

      Michael Trojan was accustomed to high expectations.

      His eldest brother was currently working for a law firm in New York, the second oldest was studying to become a doctor, and the one born three years before him already had a baby on the way and a decent job out in Columbus. His parents never directly made comparisons, no, they weren't the type. Instead, his father would make an offhand remark about one of their recent successes and cast a disgruntled look towards the high school student that hovered over his baby sister like a watchful hawk. 

      He preferred spending time with Irene. She only giggled and clapped and grabbed at his drumsticks. A four-year-old doesn't expect career paths. 

      In his first year of high school, Michael had signed up to work on the sets for the school production of Desert Song. After a week of realizing that the cast would be running short on baritones, he put his luck into an audition, too, and regretted his decision shortly after when he realized that he would have to memorize a monologue for his efforts.

      Music was  _easy_. He could memorize songs in a heartbeat. _Monologues_ meant poetry, and Michael had always been sternly against poetry. Poetry meant analysis questions assigned by his foul-tempered English teacher. Poetry meant sonnets that weren't all that romantic. Poetry meant sheer, unadulterated boredom, but he found a simple one after scanning a few books in the library and practiced it on his walk to the local pharmacy for work every day. He put it to the tune of a Stan Kenton song so he could sing it while he helped stock the shelves. Swing made things a little more bearable.

      The day of the auditions went by before he realized it, but he didn't have to sing a nonsense sonnet under his breath anymore, so that was a relief. He could return to his usual routine of writing wordless rhythms that he longed to play under the lights of New York City. He could tip his hat under the windows of Theo's law firm and watch his brother's blood boil. Now  _that_ would be a dream come true.

      The posted cast list was crowded for almost half the day once it was on the billboard outside of the music room. Every so often, he'd watch a girl get angry over her lack of a lead or one shriek because she got the role. One of the guys recoiled when he looked at the cast list and Michael bet half his sandwich that he got the male lead and wasn't too fond of the girl who was opposite him.

      Turns out, he got to keep his entire sandwich.

      Being a part of the ensemble didn't bother him very much. There were less lines to memorize, no possibilities for monologues, and he wouldn't have to kiss a random girl he didn't like. Ollie would've thrown a riot if he did, but knowing the trumpet player, he wouldn't bother to show up to opening night. God forbid Michael miss a baseball game of his, though.

      He was halfway out of the door when he heard muffled crying from one of the benches positioned near the billboard. Auburn, curled hair covered over the girl's face, her feet barely touching the ground. Under most circumstances, he would have left her alone, but something drew him to sit down beside her. Her head lifted from her hands and he realized who she was.

      Julia Adams. One of the best sopranos in the choir and the top student in his English class. A girl he'd never had a conversation with in his entire life. Likely wouldn't have, either, had she not been ruining her meticulous work on her mascara on a school bench underneath the cast list.

      "Rubber, isn't it?"

      Despite her tears, Miss Julia Adams had a bit of humor shining through her eyes that nearly made Michael scoff. He'd started getting used to the jokes after the first few months, but he didn't expect it from her. Not a stranger that could shatter glass with her range alone.

     "Very clever," Michael said, giving her shoulder a playful nudge. "I've _never_ heard that one before." She gave him a small smile, which he counted as a step in the right direction.

     "I'm not even in the ensemble," she mumbled, gesturing towards the cast list, "and Loretta took the role I practiced hours for."

     His assumption turned out to be correct, but he had never expected her to be the one to cry over it. Every solo she didn't get appeared to be brushed off as though it couldn't cause her any pain. As far as that was concerned, Julia must make an excellent actress.

     "Don't . . . don't sing because you need to get the lead."

     Her blue eyes stared into his quizzically, as though not fully understanding why he chose to give her any sort of advice. Maybe she was wondering why he was still here in the first place.

     "Sing because you just need to sing."

     Julia nodded her head after the words sunk in. Her hands reached up to wipe away the tears from under her eyes, allowing a slightly more genuine smile to come to her lips. Michael couldn't place why, but he was starting to like seeing that smile.

     "Besides," he continued, standing up and holding his hand out to her, "the girl who got the lead? She stuffs her bra so full of Kleenex that one cigarette ash will make her go up like the Hindenburg."

      _That_ got her to laugh . . . and promise that she'll stop by to work on the sets to fill her time instead of sulking over Loretta the fire hazard.

      Julia didn't break promises.


	2. Michael's First Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael suffers a break-up and Julia comes to the rescue.

“Jules, can you pass me that paint brush over there?”

After two months of work, the sets for the production were finally built, only requiring paint and a bit of creative imagination. Julia had kept her word, and though she wasn’t the best help with lifting the set pieces and constructing them, she was a better painter than Michael could have possibly pinned her as. Her auburn hair had been pinned up into a white turban to keep it from getting into the drying paint, one of Michael’s old shirts covering her sweater. Her trousers, however, were streaked with orange and yellow paint, and her cheeks had a smattering of pink.

Against his better judgement, Michael thought it was cute.  _ That _ was nothing he’d confess out loud, though.

He watched her shuffle around for a minute, trying to find the brush he requested before her fingers curled around the handle. Her red lips quirked up into a smile, and before he could even register her plot, he had pink painted bristles flying towards him and leaving a streak of color on his cheek. He touched his fingers to where he felt the paint, pulling them back to examine the color before a laugh bubbled up from his throat.

“You haven’t laughed like that in a while,” Julia observed, her focus being drawn back to the red-orange skyline she had been working on for over an hour. Ever the perfectionist.

Michael felt his body grow tense after her statement, despite knowing that she hadn’t told a lie. He knew how Julia worked by now; she’d make a statement that would imply a question without ever requiring the other person to answer her.

How could he explain that he caught his boyfriend of two years touching all over someone else in the locker room after a game to the girl who was brought up as Catholic as they came? He couldn’t, not really. It wasn’t a situation he could explain to anyone.

“Just a . . . bad break-up,” he summarized, to which she returned a sympathetic look. He watched her silence, seeing her eyes move as she started to come up with some sort of masterful plan to get him out of his (frankly depressing) mindset. Eventually, she looked at her watch, shrugged off the shirt, and held her hand out to him. His eyes looked at her in curiosity.

“What are you doing, Julia Adams?”

“Taking my best friend to the nearest ice cream parlor. That’s what you do after a break-up, isn’t it? Eat ice cream and curse the other person’s name?”

 

-

 

“Ice cream fixes all wounds,” he heard the fifteen year old proclaim, her enthusiasm over her strawberry dessert growing infectious by the hour. “Unless you’re Michael Trojan, who chooses boring  _ chocolate _ .”

Michael rolled his eyes, taking a bit of his ice cream and transferring it to Julia’s nose. She squeaked at the cold, giving him a little glare for ruining the make-up she had tried so hard on in the morning.

“Chocolate isn’t  _ boring _ , Jules. You’re just over dramatic.”

After an hour of bickering over ice cream flavors and putting Michael’s ex to shame, they walked through the chilled streets of Cleveland to get home. Julia had a scarf wrapped around her neck, her hands buried into her pockets, while Michael rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. All the while, however, they spoke in hushed voices as he held back tears. Theodore had never cried after the end of a relationship. Why did he?

The Adams’s townhouse was a quaint building, containing two bedrooms and not much else. There was a pot of catnip on one of the windowsills, and on most days, Michael could spot the scrawny old tabby cat that Julia had rescued from the rain when she was five. Toto was there now, his head rubbing up against the green leaves of the plant.

“I’m . . . I’m really sorry, Michael.”

His head turned to look back at Julia, who remained in front of the steps of the building. He shook his head, offering her a slight smile as though it could fix any wrongs.

“You’re not the one who cheated on me, Jules. There’s nothing you need to be sorry for.”

Julia shuffled on her feet for a few seconds, nervously pulling her hands out of her pockets and gesturing to the door.

“Well, this is me. Thank you . . . for walking me home,” she started to turn for the door when Michael impulsively reached for her hand, pulling her back.

His mind was whirling under her inquisitive stare, trying to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing. Against his better judgement, he leaned in towards her and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, wide eyes blinking up at her place on the stairs. He watched Julia take a deep breath, still remaining on the first step.

“I’m not going to be a . . . a rebound,” she stuttered over her words, ones that made Michael shake his head.

“You aren’t.”

“I’m not?”

“I promise.”

And then she kissed him, her lips tasting of strawberry ice cream and fire, and Michael nearly forgot how to breathe.


	3. Julia's Second Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia watches Michael perform at a night club.

   The atmosphere of a bar was nothing she had been able to grow accustomed to under her father's strict hold, but at nearly seventeen years old, Julia Adams was sitting at a table inside of a smoky Cleveland bar to watch her Polish boyfriend play the drums to his heart's content.

    _Eat your heart out, Richard Adams._

   She saw Michael's eyes scan the crowd, lighting up once he noticed her and giving her the slightest wave between songs. She laughed, waved back, and happily sipped the lemonade that the bartender had kindly made for her when she'd insisted she didn't like alcohol.

   Girls were all over him, of course. Michael Trojan, the talented boy who was going somewhere. Handsome blue eyes and strong hands and a caring soul. Not much of a student, but God, what a musician he made. Music was integral in everything that he was. He sang to remember. He sang to laugh. He sang to forget. He sang 'Happy Birthday' to his little sister and got Julia to join him. Her present from him had been her own small drum that he promised he'd teach her the basics on. 

   Their classmates had every right to swoon over him, so Julia thought, but they didn't see what was so genuine about Michael. They saw his talent. Nothing more.

   They didn't see how gently he held Julia as they walked through the streets, or how he'd help her reach the high shelves in the library so that she didn't have to embarrass herself with a stool designed for a child. Many girls didn't watch him nearly get expelled over a boy making a grab for Julia's skirt, and many boys didn't see how much he blushed whenever Julia kissed him. Those were secrets that belonged to her and her alone.

    They'd eat ice cream and go to the diner near Michael's house. They'd go dancing ever other Friday and Michael would poke his head into Julia's Sunday mass so he could watch her sing in the choir. Michael had been the first one to cheer after Julia's first leading performance in a school musical. Julia had been the one to come to his first gig at a smoky bar in Cleveland that brought her out of her comfort zone.

   "You came," he murmured, in partial disbelief, when the set had finished and he could find her in the crowd. Julia reached up to brush her fingers through his hair, her nose crinkling at the way it stuck up afterwards.

   "I promised, didn't I?" she asked. Her heart felt as though it was flying in her chest. "I said I'd come to your first gig and here I am."

   Michael's laughter surrounded her like church bells. He wrapped his arms fondly around her waist, watching another band set up for their set. He pulled her towards the main floor, a grin permanently etched into his face.

   "Care to dance, Miss Adams?"

   "It would be my pleasure."

   There was something so effortless about Michael and Julia. They danced as though no one watched, and if anyone did, Michael brushed it off enough so that Julia wouldn't care anymore. Their relationship was envied at school, as so many girls wanted one night with Michael Trojan, but it was Julia who wanted thousands. She brought him to the cinema and chattered endlessly about the movies they watched after. He listened as though the plot was more interesting coming from her lips than it had been on the screen. 

   She had once called Michael after a bad nightmare and asked if he'd come over, only for an hour. Only to reassure her that he was safe.

    June Adams found her daughter curled up in her boyfriend's arms, Julia in her pajamas and Michael in barely-dried clothes. She smiled, closed the door, and attempted a pancake breakfast.

   They spent an hour after the bar closed in the central park, with Julia giving praises and asking how he could manage to have the rhythm so ingrained into him that its delivery was flawless. Practice, he told her, and she didn't quite believe that was all that drove Michael.

   He spoke about starting a band. Going to New York City, playing under all of the lights and skyscrapers and being in newspaper headlines. Julia watched his wide eyes, shining with ambition and courage, and knew it wasn't practice that drove him at all. It was want, it was need, it was desire.

   "Can I come with you?" Julia inquired, once they were getting ready to return home, "to New York, when you go."

   Not if. _When_. Michael Trojan was definitely going to be in New York City. Julia could see it already.

   "Jules, what kind of question is that?" he responded, giving her an offended glance, "every swing band needs a singer! If you want to, of course."

   Julia's eyes lit up and she hugged him on the sidewalk, her skirt blowing around her knees due to the wind. Michael spinned her in his arms, pressed a kiss against her lips, and felt as though he was home.

   "I promise I'll be there, mon ange. Whether I'm singing or in the crowd, I'll be there every step of the way until you have dozens of records in the stores."

   Michael already knew that Julia never fell back on promises. He allowed himself to picture them together. Older. Happier. Married, maybe. Engaged, perhaps. Somewhere in between.

   "We'll go to Sardi's for dinner," he offered, which only made Julia beam.

   "It's a date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't touched this in forever but I had a spark of inspiration & decided to put off sleep so I could get this out. The ending line comes from Julia's statement that she's ' always wanted to go to Sardi's ', and while that's an obvious theatre nod, I thought it would be nice to add a bit of background to it.
> 
> Translation: 'mon ange' means 'my angel' in French. I've been sitting on a French Julia headcanon for months & chose to let it out here.

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't going to be a chapter fic, but it's becoming a chapter fic. Ending off 2018 and beginning 2019 with a bit of Julia & Michael content that's desperately needed.


End file.
